
Class _^r&c£Z&r 
Copyright^ /1M 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 




WILLARD DOUGLAS COXEY 



HEART SONGS 



AND 



OTHER VERSE 



BY 



Willard Douglas Coxey 



MAYWOOD, ILL. 

CHAS. T. GALLOP & CO. 

1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Caoles Received 

'JUL 16 1906 

(j Copyrient Entry 



crse-eit 



T$ 3 S* r 



COPY B. 



COPYRIGHT 1906 
by W. D. Coxey 



TO 
* THOSE WHOSE FAITH 

. . IN THE 
MAKER OF THESE RHYMES 
HAS NEVER WAVERED 



CONTENTS 



Heart Songs 

The River and the Sea 

We Two 

Moods 

You 

Love's Secret 

A Prairie Rose 

Love the Chameleon 

A Love Idyl . 

The Sleep Eternal 

Love 

Sometime 

Parted 

After the Storm 

The Poet 

Goin' Home to Bill 

My Best Girl 

Parting and Meeting 



9 
13 
14 
15 
16 
17 
18 
19 
20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
27 
29 



Stories in Rhyme 

The Discontented Magian 

His Last Stand . 

L'Aiglon 

A Confederate Episode 

The Gleaner , 



33 
36 

39 
41 

48 



The Blue and the Gray 

The Leg-end of the River DesPlaines 

A Kansas Widow 

Cissy Clare .... 

The Last of the Old Time Clowns 



50 

52 
56 
57 
59 



Miscellaneous 



A Summer Night at Baraboo 


69 


Discontent .... 


71 


When Knighthood was in Flower 


. 72 


The Song- of the Wheels 


74 


The West to the East 


76 


The Names of Long Ago 


78 


Pessimism ..... 


. 80 


The Bells of San Gabriel 


81 


Ambition ..... 


. 82 


Life ..... 


84 


Sunrise ..... 


. 85 


Renascence .... 


86 


Rest 


. 87 


In Bohemia .... 


88 


God's Country .... 


. 90 


Victoria ..... 


91 



HEART SONGS 



The River 
and the Sea 

Straight and strong-, as he darted along, 

Was the River, bold and free; 
And the gamboling light on his bosom bright 

Was a thing that was fair to see — 

As brave as a sight could be. 

"Stay but a little," 

The flowerets said; 
"We'll make thee a garland 
Of roses red. 
We'll build on the strand 
A palace so grand, 
And crown thee king of the Flowery Land!" 

But the River said "Nay," as he hurried away — 
His heart belonged to the Sea; 
"Nor Sorcery's wile nor Witchery's smile 
Can hold me back," said he — 
"I go to my love, the Sea!" 

"Stay but a little," 

The Zephyr said, 
Resting her hands 

On his wavy head; 
"Such love as mine 
Can never be thine 
When with the Ocean thou shalt combine." 



"Thy smile is sweet, but it were not meet 
That I should abide with thee; 
So speed the tide, that I may glide 
To the home of my love, the Sea — 
To the bride who is waiting- for me!" 

"Stay but a little," 

The Oriole said — 
And sweet was the voice 
With which she plead — 
"In woodland tree 
Til sing for thee 
If thou wilt only dwell with me!" 

"Fain would I stay, but I must away — 
I hear the voice of the Sea; 
And soft and low is the rhythmic flow, 
And sweet is her song to me — 
The song of nw love, the Sea!" 

"Stay but a little/' 

The Wood Nymph said, 
"And let me be 

Thy bride instead. 
Here on my breast, 
With love caresst, 
Thy troubled heart will be at rest. 

"No rest is mine, no peace divine 

Until I wed the Sea. 

Oh, can't you hear the music clear 

That swells so far and free — 

That sweetly welcomes me?" 
10 



And still the River, 

Unbound and free, 
Rolls and ripples 

Toward the Sea— 
An amber bow 
To tint and glow 
The waters blue that ebb and flow. 

"My Queen of Fates that yearning waits, 
'Tis I, thy lover free; 
The Zephyrs smile, and the Nymphs beguile, 
But my heart is true to thee — 
For life and all eternity! 

"With trusting faith— 
My hand in thine — 
We'll reign together, 

Queen of mine! 
My love for thee 
Shall sweeter be 
Than ever love on land or sea." 

Soft and low, like the gentle flow 

Of the brook in the quiet lea, 
A voice replied, "Thy love and bride 

Alas! I can never be — 

For all is the love of the Sea!" 

"Ah, queen of mine, 

Whose love I own, 
I live, I breathe, 
For thee alone! 

11 



Thy heart with me 
Shall still be free 
To love whoever loves the Sea!" 

But the radiant Sea is deaf to the plea 
Of the River God so fair, 

And into the tide, so vast and wide, 
He dashes in wild despair — 
The grave of his love is there. 

A River lost 

In the mighty deep— 
Another pearl 

For the Sea to keep; 
A rivulet cast 
In the Ocean vast — 
A restless heart at peace at last. 



12 



We 
Two 

What was the world made for, Sweet — 
Why was it made? 

For just you and rue, 
That I should love thee, 
With a love that shall last through eternity. 

What were hearts made for, Sweet — 
For what were hearts made? 
To feel the elation 
Of love's sweet sensation 

In every throb of the blood's warm pulsation. 

What were lips made for, Sweet — 
For what were lips made? 
To whisper of bliss, 
And respond with a kiss; 

Could heaven give anything- sweeter than this? 



13 



Moods 

When My Lady smiles 

Earth has a brighter hue, 

And flowers fair, 
Redolent with dew, 
, Perfume the air — 
When My Lady smiles. 

When My Lady frowns, 
The air is chill — 

The roses blight — 
The world stands still, 
And all is night — 
When My Lady frowns. 

When My Lady smiles 
There is no night, 

Nor gloom, nor rain, 
And roses bright 

All bloom again — 
When My Lady smiles 



14 



You 

I have tried to think, sometimes, my Love, 

What the world would be without you — 

If, never again, in the passing- years, 
I could fold my arms about you. 

For who could soothe like you, my Love, 

When my heart, like a troubled ocean, 

Would dash itself on the rocks of care 
Were it not for your devotion? 

And who would condone my faults, my Love? 

They are many and great I fear — 
But the sweetest woman in all the world, 

And that is you, my dear. 



15 



Love's 
Secret 

A Butterfly said to a fluttering Moth, 
"Oh, what is the secret of love?" 
The Moth answered low, "I really don't know — 

Go ask of our neighbor, the Dove," 
So the Butterfly hurried away to the Bird, 

And repeated her question there; 
And the Dove made reply,with a tremulous sigh, 
"Go ask of the Maiden fair — 

Go ask of the Maiden fair! " 

The Butterfly found, in a garden, the Maid, 

And, perched on her dainty white glove, 
She murmured, in accents as light as the air, 

"Won't you tell me the secret of love?" 
On the cheeks of the Maid came a delicate blush, 
As pink as the breast of the Dove — 
" When your lips feel the bliss of a true lover's kiss 
You will know the secret of love— 

You will know the secret of love! " 



16 



A Prairie 
Rose 

My Love i3 sweet as the prairie rose 

That smiles in the morning- sun! 
{Oh, never a sweeter flower was blown 

Since woman by love was won; 
And never a ruddier flame was seen, 

In the land that is green and fair, 
Than the crimson blush of the wild red rose 

That scenteth the prairie air). 

The flowers droop when the day is dark, 

And oft, when the wild winds blow, 
The petals scatter so far and wide 

None listeth whither they go; 
But sweet and complete was the rose I plucked — 

So like my Love — so fair — 
That I hid it away with my treasure trove 

And I'll cherish it everywhere. 



Love, 

the Chameleon 

Love suffereth long-, and is kind; 

Love hath a thousand eyes— and is blind, 

Love is perverse as a wayward child; 
Yet Love is tender, and sweet, and mild. 

Love is idle, and Love is gay; 
Yet Love is busy the livelong day. 

Love is cruel when Love would sue; 
Yet Love is gentle, and kind, and true. 

Love is a mirror for passion's glare; 
Where Love reflects all things are fair, 

Love is the key to Pandora's box; 
Love is the world's great paradox. 



18 



A Love 
Idyl 

"Sad has my life been— 
Ills e'er betide me — 
Yet my soul ever 

Lingers beside thee. 

"Do not disdain me — 
Coquettries stifle — 
Hearts may be broken — 
Love is no trifle, 

"To thy dear self/' he cried, 
"All my soul ever 
Clings with a tie of love 
Nothing can sever. 

"Speak but the little words — 
Rue it you'll never — 

"Love I thee well 

Forever and ever.'" 

Over her face the blood 
Swept like a river: 
"I love thee," she said — 

"And I'll love thee forever." 



19 



The Sleep 
Eternal 

The night is dark, the way is drear- 
Awake, my Love, awake! 

My boding- heart is faint with fear; 

How canst thou sleep when I am near? 
Awake, my Love, awake! 

Thou wilt not speak — thy voice is still — 

Awake, my Love, awake! 
Against my breast I'll hold thee till 
I feel thy heart's responsive thrill; 

Awake, my Love, awake! 

The roses from thy cheeks have fled — 

Awake, my Love, awake! 
Thy silence fills my soul with dread; 
It is the slumber of the dead — 

Awake, my Love, awake! 

I know it is the sleep of death — 

Awake, my Love, awake! 
And yet, with every sobbing breath, 
My breaking heart, appealing, saith, 

Awake, my Love, awake! 



20 



Love 

I love her. Why? 

What matters why? 
Enough it is I love her 

With a love that cannot die. 

I love her, Sweet? 

No words can tell how sweet, 
Love's light is in her eyes — 

Love guards her feet. 

I love her. Fair? 

In my fond eyes 
All beauty crowns 

Her form and face and hair. 

I love her. Content? 

My heart sings free 
Because I love her 

And my Love loves me. 



21 



Sometime 

Sometime, dear heart — I know not when— 
And yet I pray it may be soon — 

We two shall walk together, hand-in-hand, 
And all the earth be fair as noon, 

And where Ifgo shalt thou go, too, 

In comradeship complete, divine — 

Thy land shall be my native place, 

And all my people shall be thine. 

Dear love of mine, it is not well 

That you and I should live apart — 

In joy or sorrow, weal or woe, 

Let's stand together, heart to heart! 



22 



Parted 

Dear Love! I call you so, and yet 

I may not hold you to my heart, nor say 

The words that, burning* in my soul, 

Would light you on your lonely way. 

Dear Heart! you think me cold, and yet 
My thought is with you day by day; 

I love you dearly, tho' I know 

Our paths must lie apart alway. 



2.i 



After 
the Storm 

Why should we grieve when the day; is dark? 

Why should we fret at the rain? 
After the moisture has kissed the earth 

The flowers will bloom again. 

Why should we grieve if those we love 
Are estranged for a little while? 

The sweetest favors the lips can know 
Are the kisses that reconcile. 



24 



The 
Poet 

A poet said to his heart, one day, 

" Oh, heart of mine, be still. 
The love of woman is but a snare — 
A poet's love is a thing- of air 

That defies his heart and will." 

A poet said to his soul one day, 

"Oh, soul of mine, be still. 
A poet's realms are the mountain peaks — 
His love is the g-entle voice that speaks 
To his soul from wood and rill." 



25 



Goin' Home 
to Bill 

All day ah've b'en a-frettin'— 

A-frettin' fo' yo', Bill; 
Ah wants t' see yo', honey, 

An' man heart et won' kee' still; 
Ah longs t' feel th' presshah 

Ov yo* han' within mah own, 
Fo' ah'm tiah'd, mahty tiah'd 

Ov trav'lin' all alone! 

They ain't no kin' o' music 

Thet 'ud maik mah heart rejoice 
Laike th/ echa ov yo' footsteps 

An' th' ripple o' yo' voice. 
Ah sees yo' ev'y minnit, 

Laike a picchah in a frame, 
An' ah loves t' watch yo' feachahs 

As ah loves t' call yo' name, 

Th' days ah jes' a-flyin' — 

Th' houahs mahty feow, 
Tell ah'll be speedin' homewa'd 

On mah way t' yo*. 
Got no use fo' travelin' — 

Other folks ken roam — 
Ah'm a-comin' — comin' back, Bill, 

T' yo , -~ an' love — an' home! 

26 



My 
Best Girl 

Lots of women, loads of fun, 
Ever since the world begun, 
But for me there's only one — 
My Best Girl. 

She's the kind that gladness brings, 
And to whom a fellow clings — 
She's an angel without wings 
Is my Best Girl. 

When the days are dark and long, 
And everything is going wrong, 
Then she's cheerful, bright and strong — 
Is my Best Girl. 

If a fellow's down and out — 
Don't know how to turn about — 
'Tis then she puts the blues to rout- 
Does my Best Girl. 

When my head is racked with pain, 
Her touch, as gentle as the rain, 
Brings peace and comfort back again — 
My Best Girl. 

She's a temper, just the same, 
And it bursts at times in flame; 
But she's not alone to blame, 
13 my Best Girl. 

27 



When I'm maddest that's when she 
Is just as sweet as sweet can be — 
Takes all the mad right out of me, 
Does my Best Girl, 

God bless you, dear, where'er you are; 
My heart is with you near and far; 
You are my pal and guiding" star — 
My Best Girl, 



28 



Parting 
and Meeting 

Sweet is the parting kiss of love, 

And sweet the kiss of love's fond greeting — 
But weary are the days that lie between 

The parting and the hour of meeting. 



29 



STORIES IN RHYME 



The Discontented Magian 
And His Five Gifted Sons 

Once upon a time, in some far Eastern land, 
A magian, learned in books, and passing skilled 

of hand," 
Was blessed of Heaven, inasmuch as he 
Could boast five sons for his posterity. 
Each one some talent had, which fickle Fate 

denied 
The father and the other sons beside. 
One was a hunter, lucky, staunch and bold; 
Another had the knack of changing dross to 

gold;! 
The third, a leader born, held men enslaved 
By deeds as bold as ever hero braved; 
The fourth all knowledge sought, nor yet in vain 
Had wooed the Muse in sweet, poetic strain; 
The last was made to love, and well he played 

his part, 
For maidens everywhere besieged his tender 

heart. 

The magian oft declared his children heaven 

sent, 

And yet because of them was discontent: 

4 "Twas hard to understand, " he'd oft declare, 

"How Nature with her gifts could be so spare, 

When every one in all the worthy lot 

Might all the talents have as well as not." 

Much brooding in one never-ending strain, 

In time reacted on the magian's brain, 

33 



Until one day, within a fateful hour, 
The genii tempted him to use his magic power. 
Saying, "What matters it tho' four be dead, 
If he who lives has all their gifts instead?" 

And so by virtue of the gift he had, 
Which magi use for purposes both good and 

bad, 
He changed the five all into one, 
And found himself the father of an only son. 
In vain, however, did he try to trace 
The marks of genius on his offspring's face; 
In vain the hunter sought — the bowman bold; 
In vain the trader, with his touch of gold; 
The leader brave no longer led the van, 
But was a slave to every other man; 
The poet's wings were trailing in the mire, 
Bereft of metre and the sacred fire; 
And even Love, by some strange fate, 
Had changed his wooing into words of hate. 

The magian, on the ground, in wild despair, 
Fell sprawling, tearing at his hair, 
The while he cursed his craven son, 
And swore his evil work should be undone, 
Forgetting in his wrathful hour, 
A single change exhausts the magian's power; 
Until, remorseful, penitent, with throbbing 

brain, 
He calls on Allah to restore his sons again, 
And praises Heaven, as his eyes behold 
The five, with each his talent as of old. 



34 



The moral's old as anything that e'er was writ: 
Whate'er your talent is, 'twas made to fit, 
And magian never yet evolved a plan 
That beat Dame Nature in the making of a man- 



35 



His Last Stand 

'Twas the closing- night of the circus year — 

The program was nearly spent — 
And the "actors" were saying their last "good- 
byes,'* 

Back in the dressing tent. 
Much of sorrow the year had brought, 

But plenty of friendships true, 
And glad as were they to be getting away, 

They dreaded the parting, too. 

Apart, on his trunk, sat the "King of the Air"— 

But a "ruler" no more was he; 
The aerial flights he had taken that night 

Were the last they would ever see. 
On his pallid face was a hectic flush, 

And his cough — it was sad to hear; 
The doctors said if he didn't go West 

He would die ere the end of the year. 

'Twas the "night of his life" on the swinging- 
trapeze — 

He had never "caught on" so well— 
And the thundering cheers still rang in his ears 

Like the roar of an ocean swell; 
But now he sat with his face in his hands — 

A picture of mute despair; 
And down, through his fingers, trickled the tears 

As he wept in his misery there. 
36 



Softly the "actors'* gathered around 

And one of them spoke for all; 
"Old chap, don't fret, you're a good one yet, 

Tho' you've had a mighty close call! 
All you need is the sun and the air, 

And a winter of quiet and rest, 
And you'll be as strong as the season is long 

When you're home again from the West. 

"Every one in the dressing tent 

Is anxious to give you a lift, 
And so we've gathered a 'bit of a purse' — 

You may call it a Christmas gift. 
You'll need it, old pal, when you get to Tucson, 

Out on the desert drear— 
And'so, good-bye, 'til you're safe and" well, 

Back with the show next year." 

He tried to tell them how good they were; 

But the horror — it wouldn't down— 
And all he could see were the lonely hours 

Of his life in the "lunger's" town; — 
Far away from the ones he loved, 

In a battle for life and breath, 
With the only reward the endless sleep 

That comes with the chill of death, 

Out from the "big top" came the strains 

Of the song of songs divine— 
"Home, Sweet home!" how it tingled thro' 
His bloodless veins like wine! 



He tried to smile, tho' all the while 
His heart was breaking: in twain, 

For he knew (for him) that grand old song 
Would never be played again. 

One by one he clasped their hands 

In a quivering-, last farewell; 
Then, trembling, slow, he started to go, 

But faltered — staggered — and fell. 
As gently as women they raised him up 

And tenderly pillowed his head, 
But the "King of the Air'' had "closed" for life,. 

And "signed" with the host of the dead. 



38 



L'Aiglon 



Written after seeing Miss Maud Adams 
in Rostand's Masterpiece. 

On eagle wings my thoughts have soared- 

None ever dreamed as I; 
And now, before my work is done, 

The end is nigh. 

I never more shall see thee, France— 

My royal mother free; 
And yet I thought I heard thee call, 

And beckon on to me. 

I dreamed there waved above my head 

The gleaming fleur-de-lis; 
I dreamed the eagles led me on 

To power and victory, 

On land and sea the battle raged, 

With horse, and foot, and fleet; 

Till, everywhere, a conquered world 
Lay prostrate at my feet. 

I saw the guards, in line, salute 

An Emperor passing by; 
I heard the people shout, and thought 

That Emperor was I, 

And then I dreamed another dream: 
I stood on Wagram's field, 



89 



And heard the voices of the dead 

Where once the cannon pealed; — 

The awful cry of wounded men 
The ghostly breezes bore— 

The protest of a dying host 
Against the lust of war. 

The dreams are past — the visions fled — 

The sand is almost run; 
But still with fleeting" breath I cry: 
"Napoleon! Napoleon!'' 



40 



A Confederate 
Episode 

There was joy in the heart of farmer Brent, 
Tho' his eyes were dim and his figure bent, 
For Hood was marching-, day and night, 
To put the troops of the North to flight — 
Up from the banks of the Tennessee, 
With horse, and foot, and artillery. 

But it wasn't of Hood alone he thought — 
Of Hood and the battles yet unfought — 
But the boys he had sent away to the war, 
Who were coming back with brigade and corps, 
To fight for the South, and for Hood and Lee, 
In their native valleys of Tennessee. 

The mother had died while the boys were 
young, 
When the hearts of the people were yet unwrung 
By the news of battle—the bitter strife 
Of a struggle that threatened the nation's life; 
But the farmer was father and mother in one, 
And he loved them each as an only son; 
And, strange to say, as the }^ears rolled by, 
And the whitening hair and vacant eye 
Told that the days were nearty spent 
In the quiet life of farmer Brent, 
The love he had given his boys of old 
Came back with interest a hundredfold, 
And it never occurred to Joe and Ned 
To grieve the heart and bow the head 

41 



Of the patient father, whose gentle ways 
Had smoothed the troubles of childhood days. 

When the war broke out, and the message came 
That North and South were all aflame, 
And the guns that told of Sumter's fail 
Made the Southern cause the cause of all, 
The youth and brawn of Tennessee, 
The merchants' sons and the yeomanry, 
Went off to the front, with courage high, 
To strive for glory — perhaps to die; 
And, whenever a company marched away, 
With waving colors and trumpet bray, 
The Brent boys looked with sinking heart — 
They wanted to go, but they couldn't depart, 
And leave for their father's aged hands 
The care of stock and harvest lands. 

And so they stayed, but the news that came 
Back from the front, where the "rebel" name 
Was filling the North with fear and dread, 
And vict'ry perched where Southron led, 
Touched their pride, and a blush of shame 
More than once on their faces came 
When the old folks looked their way, and said, 
With quavering voice and nodding head, 
That "feeding cattle and raising corn 
Was women's work, when the land was torn 
By the storm of battle, and, day by day, 
The ranks were thinning, and thousands lay 
Dead in the trenches, and General Lee 
Was calling the youth and the chivalry 

42 



Of all fair Dixie, near and far, 
To hurry on to the seat of war!" 

But, while they suffered and said no word, 
The soul of the father was being stirred 
By the news of battle, and his brave old heart 
Was sorely troubled, for he couldn't take part; 
And then he looked at Ned and Joe, 
And cried: "I'll do it — 111 let them go. 
For they are j'-oung, and their limbs are free, 
And they'll fight for the South as well as me!' , 

So the Brent boys gallantly marched away, 
With waving colors and trumpet bray, 
And the old man thought, "If either one 
Should fall in battle, God's will be done." 
But every letter that found its way 
To farmer Brent was sure to say 
That both the boys were sound and well, 
With never a scratch from shot or shell; 
And the tales they told of bravery done 
By Franklin boys, in battles won, 
Was a source of pride, for well he knew 
Where others went his boys went too. 
And yet, in spite of his heart and will, 
'T was wearisome waiting at home until 
The noise of battle, the leaden rain, 
Should cease, and his boys come back again. 

But now he went about the place 
With peace in hi3 heart and hope in his face; 
And, whenever he passed the time of day 
With friend or neighbor, he'd stop and say, 

43 



"What's the news of the boys in gray. 
And what's the chance of 'em coming this way?" 
And when they replied, as he knew they would, 

"They were coming- that way, 't was understood," 
He'd rub his hands and say with a smile, 

"Then I'll see my boys in a little while!" 

Away to the South where the boys in gray 
Pressed eagerly forward, night and day, 
Burning to match their might and skill 
With the Federal troops at fair Nashville, 
There was many a soldier lad who'd boast 
To his bold companions up from the coast, 
"This is my State, boys— keep your eyes on me, 
And see how we fight in old Tennessee!" 
But there wasn't a soldier in all the crowd 
Who looked so brave, or who felt so proud 
As the Brent boys did on that fatal day 
When the news came back that the Federals lay 
Entrenched in force, on hill and down, 
To bar the way to Franklin town. 

In the early morn, when the boy3 awoke, 
They could see the spires and curling .smoke 
Of the pretty town, and nearer still could plainly 

trace 
The gabled roof of their native place: 
And the sight of the homestead nestling there, 
With the hills about it, green and fair, 
Touched their hearts with a sudden thrill, 
Like the echo of music when the night is still — 

44 



A feeling- of pleasure, and yet of dread 

For the dear old place and its honored head. 

But scant was the time for hope or fear, 
With the sun awake and the "Yankees" near; 
And loud and shrill came the trumpet call — 
"Forward, forward, one and all! ,, 
Like the roar from the depths of a muffled mine, 
A shout went up from the "rebel" line, 
And like a torrent, wild and free, 
The troops swept on toward the enemy. 

In the Federal ranks, beyond the trees, 
Where the stars and stripes waved in the breeze, 
The soldiers stood, with bated breath, 
In silence, and as grim as death; 
While ever onward came the swell, 
And higher rose the "rebel" yell. 

But see! a sudden tremor seems to thrill 
The Federal ranks along- the hill— 
A single shot — a ringing shout — 
And then the fires of hell break out! 
Under the storm of leaden rain 
The Southrons pause, then charge again, 
Until, within the jaws of death, 
They feel the cannons' heated breath, 
And then, and not 'til then, give way, 
And Federal bullets win the da}^ 



And now, where but an hour ago, 
The waving grass was wont to grow, 

45 



The field has turned from green to red, 
Where lie the dying- and the dead; 
While, far away, the victors' shout 
Proclaims defeat and Southron rout. 

In the angle of an orchard wall, 
Among the first that day to fall, 
Torn and mangled in the fray, 
Side by side the Brent boys lay. 
With clasping hands, in sight of home, 
They waited for the end to come; 
And then a wish, a burning thought, 
Within their hearts expression sought — 
If in that hour of awful pain, 
They could but see the place again — 
Could find their father, waiting nigh, 
And say a loving last good-bye! 



Out from the bloody angle red 
They pick their way among- the dead, 
Step by step, with reeling brain, 
Fainting now, then up again, 
'Til, stumbling on, they reach the bridge 
And mount the old, familiar ridge. 

With gaping wounds and gasping breath, 
And eyes that have the glaze of death, 
They stagger up, and looking 'round 
Survey the well-remembered ground — 
The apple grove, the pebbled stream, 
The scene of many a boyhood dream; 
46 



The ivied-mill, where many an hour 
They watched the slowly-grinding flour; 
The "quarters" where in lazy ease 
The negroes sang their melodies; 
But where's the homestead, quaint and still? 
And where's the barn beneath the hill? 
Unroofed, with battered walls, and torn, 
The dear old house where they were born, 
And where the cattle once were fed 
Is naught but wreck and embers red; 
While e'en the fence, where years ago 
The old red gate swung to and fro, 
Splintered by shell, and rent by ball, 
Totters in ruins, ripe to fall. 

One look at the place so desolate, 
A sob for the loving father's fate, 
And then, "Farewell, old home!" they cried, 
And, falling prostrate, gasped and died. 



At even, as the sun went down 
Behind the spires of Franklin town, 
An aged farmer made his way 
Among the dead who fell that day — 
Bowed with grief, and dreading lest 
He'd find his boys among the rest — 
And climbing up the orchard hill 
He found them lying, cold and still, 
With rigid limbs, but wistful face, 
Turned toward their native place. 



„ 



The 
Gleaner 

Across the fields the gleaner comes— 

A daughter of the soil; 
Upon her rugged face is stamped 

The lineage of toil. 

No gentle birth gleams in her eyes; 

No pride of race is there; 
And yet she smiles to feel the breath 

Of summer in the air. 

With lips distended wide she drinks 

The glory of the morn, 
And breathes the scent of new-mown hay 

Across the meadows borne. 

She feels the peace of early dawn, 
The joy of life — and, hark! 

Above the drowsy fields she hears 
The music of the lark! 

And now the lowing of the kine 

Is heard upon the lea, 
Where scented flowers wake to greet 

The droning of the bee. 

And still the gleaner smiles to hear 

The voices of the morn, 
That speak alike to rich and poor, 

And to the lowly born. 
48 



What carea she for the centuries — 
The crushing weight of years? 

Within that rugged form a soul 
The song of nature hears. 

Her hands are rough, her feet are bare, 
Her strength is sorely tried; 

And yet content illumes her face 
And makes it glorified! 



49 



The Blue 
and the Gray 

Through the streets of a Southern city 

A funeral cortege went: 
They were taking a gallant soldier boy 

To sleep in his marble tent; 
A youth as fair as his own fair land — 

A hero, with heart of gold — 
And many an eye was dim with tears 

As the tale of his death was told. 

For he was the son of a soldier, 

Who stood at the cannon's mouth 
And fought for the cause he thought was right — 

The cause of the Sunny South — 
But who lived to honor the dear old flag, 

With its stars so dear!} 7 bought, 
Andfto offer his only boy to die 

For the flag that his father fought, 

When the President called for^volunteers 

To fight in a foreign land, 
And the slumbering sparks of a nation's wrath 

To a mighty flame was fanned, 
He was one of the first to be enrolled 

To fight for Cuba free, 
And he gave his life as a sacrifice 

For human liberty. 

50 



Into the storm of shot and shell, 

In the battle of San Juan Height, 
He bore the flag that his father fought, 

And ledginlthe gallant fight. 
He planted the banner high in air, 

On the creat, as the Spaniards fled, 
And there, in the flush of their victory, 

His comrades found him — dead. 

In a beautiful home on the Bayou Teche, 

A veteran passed away, 
And the wasted form that was laid to rest 

Wa3 clad in the Rebel gray. 
His last fond words were a message of hope 

For the boy that he loved so well; 
And he never knew that his hero true 

Was one of the brave who fell, 

Back to the home of his childhood days, 

(On the breast of the Southern sea), 
They bore the form of the soldier boy 

Who had died for Cuba free. 
They buried the heroes side by side — 

For each to his faith was true— 
The father who fought for the Rebel gray, 

And the son who died for the blue. 



51 



The Legend of the 
River Des Plaines 

Out of the North, from the fair lake land, 

Comes the River of the Plain; 
And a mystical song of the long* ago 
Is set to the tune of the rhythmic flow 
Of this River of the Plain. 

And, oh! what a wonderful tale it tells — 

This River of the Plain; 
The lore of a people passed away, 
The pride and wrong of a vanished day 

By the River of the Plain. 

For this was the land of the Miamis, 

By the River of the Plain, 
A people as brave as the Tartars bold, 
Who crossed the straits, they say, of old, 
To the River of the Plain. 

'Twas here the council fires glowed, 

By the River of the Plain; 
And here the wigwam raised its crest 
When the Indian hunter came to rest 

By the River of the Plain. 

Once, 'tis said, the great Manitou came 

To the River of the Plain, 
And calling the old men to his side 
Said, "Make me a lodge, and I'll abide 

By the River of the Plain.'' 
52 



And for a moon and more he stayed 

By the River of the Plain, 
And th® wildest buffalo lost its fear, 
And became as tame as the captive deer 

By the River of the Plain. 

The flowers bloomed as never before 

By the River of the Plain; 
And in the breath of the summer morn 
Could be heard the song* of the tasseled corn 

By the River of the Plain, 

But, strange to say, the people forgot, 

By the River of the Plain, 
That it was the Manitou made the feast, 
And brought the wandering fowl and beast 

To the River of the Plain. 

Then grew the Miamis strong and proud, 

By the River of the Plain; 
"The earth," they said, "for us was made— 
Our might will make all men afraid 
By the River of the Plain! 5 ' 

Then it was, in the quiet night, 

By the River of the Plain; 
The flame of the watchfire mounted high, 
And brave and war-chief gathered nigh 

To the River of the Plain. 

And blood ran red in the scarlet land 

Of the River of the Plain, 
And nothing could stay the name of death 

53 



That parched the earth like a dragon's breath 
By the River of the Plain. 

Gorged with plunder and blood and scalp, 

To the River of the Plain, 
Came the Miamis, with shout and song*, 
Drunk with the spell of their sin and wrong, 

By the River of the Plain. 

Not a thought of the Manitou then, 

By the River of the Plain, 
But all unknown, in the quiet night, 
The Miamis' God had taken flight 

From the River of the Plain. 

The tassels withered on the corn 

By the River of the Plain! 
And far away from the river shore 
The bison wandered and came no more 

To the River of the Plain. 

Then Fever and Famine came and dwelt 

By the River of the Plain, 
And the people prayed in the sacred spot 
Where the God had lodged, but he heard them 
not 

By the River of the Plain. 

"Oh, Manitou, the mighty, good Manitou," they 

cried, 
By the River of the Plain, 
"Our hearts are filled with sadness— for us there 

is no mirth — 
54 



Save us or we perish —perish from the earth, 
By the River of the Plain! " 

But the Manitou would not listen, 

By the River of the Plain, 
And he brought from the North a stronger race 
To drive the Miami from his place 

By the River of the Plain. 

No monument marks the Miami graves 

By the River of the Plain, 
Tho' far away to the East, as they fled. 
They left a trail of Indian dead 

From the River of the Plain, 

And now, if 3^ou stand by the musical stream 

Of the River of the PJain, 
And ask of the Miamis. brave and bold, 
Who feasted and fought in the days of old, 

By the River of the Plain — 

This is the legend you will hear 

From the River of the Plain— 
The story of how the Manitou 
Rebuked his children, long ago, 

By the River of the Plain. 

And the mighty tribe that was, is not, 

By the River of the Plain, 
And only the river knows the day 
When the Miamis sinned and passed away 

From the River of the Plain. 

55 



A Kansas 
Widow 

Shufflin' 'long the street one day 
Met a friend from Kansas way: 
"Glad," sez I, "to see ye', Jane, 
An' hope yo'r feelin' well again!" 
Sez she, "Jes tol'able." 

"Las' time I see ye' Jane," sez I, 
"Th' pa'son 'lowed ye* hed t' die: 
Must 'a knocked th' doctor out 
T' see ye' well an' git about." 
Sez she, "I reckon," 

"Hear yo'r married, too," sez I; 
("Gosh! how time does flicker by!) 
'Sposeyo'r fond o' married life, 
An' proud t' be a farmer's wife?" 
Sez she, "I'm mournm'." 

No one's corns is tre'd upon 
When a widder's to be won, 
So I sez, "Matilda Jane, 
Let's begin to spark again!" 

Sez she, "I'm willinV 

Jest a fortnight, to the day, 
Back we went to Kansas way; 
Sez I t' Jane, "Is Number Two 
As dear as t'other was to you?" 
Sez she, "Stop teazinT' 

56 



Cissy 
Clare 

"If ever I marry a horrid man 
I hope to die as soon as I can!" 

This said Cissy Clare. 
And the sun came down with brightest ray 
And kissed her cheeks that summer day, 

And golden made her hair. 

Over the hills came Billee Gray, 
From a country village far away, 

To woo sweet Cissy Clare; 
He looked upon her roguish face, 
And fell a prey to her airy grace, 

And loved he Cissy Clare. 

He fetched her posies every day — 
He drove her other beaux away — 

But to speak he didn't dare; 
But eyes said things that lips could not, 
And go away he fain would not — 

Away from Ciss}^ Clare, 

At last when flowers bloomed again 
Beneath the Queen of Summer's reign, 
And the days were sweet and fair, 
He took her hand with a soft caress, 
And said in tones of tenderness, 
"I love thee, Cissy Clare!" 

57 



"Wilt go with me, my bonnie maid, 
And see the parson now?" he said — 

"'T is not so far away." 
Then paled her face like highland snow, 
And spake she bitterly and low, 

"I cannot marry, Billee Gray, 

"I've made a dreadful vow/' said she, 
'•And nevermore shall I be free/' 

Said pretty Cissy Clare. 
'"If ever I marry a man,' said I, 
'As soon as I can I hope to die!' M 

And weep did Cissy Clare. 

"You need not marry me," said he, 
"But I, forsooth, will marry thee, 
My charming Cissy Clare,'' 
Then smiling grew her face, and bright, 
And, somehow, in the summer light 

His arm went 'round the golden hair. 



58 



The Last of the 
Old-Time Clowns 

In a darkened room of a quiet house 

An old-time jester lay, 
And a watcher waited in charity 

For his spirit to pass away. 

His hair was white, his face was drawn, 

And death was in his graze, 
But many times he woke and smiled, 

And spoke of other days. 

He talked of love, and he talked of fame, 
And his quavering voice rang proud 

As once again, in the circus ring, 
He faced the cheering crowd! 

The whole scene passed before his eyes— 
The tents, the "tumblers" bold— 

The stars who rode the "padded" steeds 
In tights of spangled gold! — 

The strong man and the "talking clown" — 

The flying queen of air — 
The master of the ring and whip — 

The lady rider fair! 

He cried "hoopla!" with his old-time vim, 

And went in the "leaps" again, 
And bowed when the crowd rose in the seats 

To cheer the equestrienne! 

59 



And once again he hummed the song's 

He sung in the long ago — 
The merry rhymes of the old-time clown 

That live in the mem'ry so. 

And then, in a flash, the gay refrain 
Changed to a passion wild;— 

He turned his face to the whitewashed wall 
And wept like a little child. 

'No more," he cried, "can the past return— 

'Tis time for me to die! 
Gone for all is the one-ring show — 

Last of the clowns am I!" 

Then silence fell on the darkened room; 

It seemed his soul had fled; 
The watcher thought he lingered in 

The chamber of the dead. 



Down the street came a circus parade, 
With dens and chariots grand, 

And riding ahead, in a golden car, 
A uniformed circus band! 

Just as far as the eye could reach 
Were the bannerets flying free. 

And waving plumes, and prancing steeds, 

And a mile of pageantry. 
60 



A thousand brilliant colors flashed 

Within the sunlight's glare, 
And twenty kinds of melody 

Made glad the morning- air! 

The old clown stirred — and then a smile 

Across his features stole - 
(Is this the music of the skies 

That thrills his dreaming soul?) 

And now, in chasseur raiment gay, 

With bridles hanging free, 
The mounted band comes trooping by 

With swelling melody! 

A sudden start — a cry of joy— 

The clown is on his feet! 
The curtain dark is torn aside! 

His eyes are on the street! 

"Am I awake? or do I dream? 
Is this the morning sun? 
Is this> phantasy?" he cried, 
"Or fifty shows in one?" 

And still the glist'ning pageant passed, 

With knight, and herald gay, 
And still the circus bands played on 

As only they can play! 

Long at the window sat the clown— 
His eyes aglow with hope — 

61 



ji^tn receding- distance stilled 
The shrieking "calliope." 

At last he seemed to rouse himself 
Like one who walks in sleep; 

His palsied hands grew strong and still — 
His voioe was strangely deep: 

"I may be dead to-morrow night — 
To-day I'll see the show; 
I want to see tfre sawdust ring 
Once more before I go! 

"And when I cross the river black 
I'll look behind to see 
The pennants on the 'big top' wave 
Their last farewell to me!" 



In the middle row of the monster tent — 
The grass beneath his feet — 

They placed the old-time circus clown — 
A guest, in a coupon seat, 

He clapped his hands at the tournament, 
He smiled at the aerial queen; 

Next to the one-ring circus, 'twas 
The best he'd ever seen! 

Then John O'Brien's horse display 

Burst on his startled gaze — 
''We'd naught like that," he softly said, 

"In one-ring circus days, 
62 



"But where's your Merry Andrew? 

And where's your talking clown? 
And where's your 'rube' that fooled 'em when 
The circus came to town? 

"That was the time when singing clowns 
Were kings on circus da}'! 
But I'm the last, and with my life 
The clown will pass away!" 

Back flew the pad room curtain wide — 

Out sprang a motley crew — 
The merriest lot of painted wags 

That ever artist drew! 

Clowns from the Humpty-Dumpty books — 
Clowns from the world grotesque! 

Clowns in white, and clowns in red, 
And clowns in arabesque! 

The old man looked disdainfully — 
He tossed his head in scorn — 
"A lot of 'Reuben Glues'" he growled— 
"The old-time clown was born!" 

Scarcely a word the jesters spoke, 

As down the track they went, 
But ev'ry move they made, the crowd 

Went wild with merriment! 

They played the drollest kind of tricks 
They sung in pantomime, — 



63 



The people on the farthest "blues" 
Could understand the "rhyme." 

They "played" for the crowded "bleachers"— 
They "played" for the "seats" that day, 

They "played" for the centre section, 

And they "played" for the old clown gray! 

They revelled in fun and frolic— 

They "tumbled," and danced and chaffed, 
Till the old-time clown forgot to frown, 

And, in spite of himself, he laughed! 

The more he tried 6 to resist it, 

The louder he laughed in glee: 
"I thought that I was the last," he cried, 
"And here's forty as good as me! 

"Twice twenty clowns, in a hundred acts, 
And a hundred kinds of fun; 
And forty clowns in a single show 
Are better than only one!" 



Behind the scenes of the mammoth show, 
When the crowd had gone away, 

On a pallet of tinselled wardrobe bright 
The old time jester lay. 

They'd carried him from the hippodrome— 

"Dying," a doctor said, 
And the gentle touch of the women's hands 
Was balm to his throbbing head. 
64 



On the face of the old-time circus man 
Was a look that was not of earth: 

It touched the hearts of the bold athletes, 
And the eyes of the men of mirth! 

He babbled of home, and of children gone — 
He babbled of by-gone years — 

Till the strongest among them turned away 
To hide the welling tears. 

""It's getting dark/' he murmured — 

His life was ebbing fast — 
"It's good to fall asleep/' he said, 
"In the dressing room at last!" 

A gentle, whispered, last farewell — 

"Good-bye, to one and all!" — 
And the last of the old-time circus clowns 
Had answered his final call! 



L'ENVOI. 

Peace to thee, gentle mummer — 
Peace to thy soul, and rest! 

Too long thy life! — 'tis but in dreams 
The one-ring show is best! 



65 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 



A Summer Night 
at Baraboo 

Gray-glistening- in the evening sky 
The quiet hills contented lie — 

The hills of Baraboo. 
A holy silence, brooding, deep, 
Prepares the way for rest and sleep 
Where gentle zephyrs softly sweep 

The hills of Baraboo. 

No cowbells tinkle in the dale; 
At rest the herds within the vale— 

The vale of Baraboo. 
The noisy thrush— the gay red-breast, 
Have stilled their music in the nest, 
And drowsy night has wooed to rest 

The vale of .Baraboo. 

Alone, the river, in its flight 
Disturbs the stillness of the night — 

The river of Baraboo. 
A murmuring song the waters croon, 
Holding their mirrors for the moon, 
(Lost in the depths of the night too soon) 

The river of Baraboo. 

Oh, hills of gray and vale of green, 

Oh, waters with the mirror sheen — 

The pride of Baraboo — 

69 



So long as life and love shall be 
Let minstrel raise his song to thee— 
The hills — the vale — the river free — 
The pride of Baraboo. 



70 



Discontent 

We talk of life and its narrow bounds — 
We grieve for the things denied, 

And forget that all things come to him 
Who laughs and is satisfied. 

Like children who think the moon is a toy, 
And the stars are baubles bright, 

We struggle and strive for the things afar 
And miss the good in sight. 



71 



When Knighthood 
Was in Flower 

ROMANCE. 

When knighthood was in flower 

Great lord and baron held their sway, 
And strolling minstrel sang his lay, 
Extolling- virtue in the fair, 
And prompting knight to do and dare- 
When knighthood was in flower! 

HISTORY. 

When knighthood was in flower 
There was no legal test of right; 
The baron ruled by force of might, 
And every wrong and cruel thing 
Was done "by order of the king!" 

When knighthood was in flower. 

ROMANCE, 
When knighthood was in flower 

The errant knight went forth in quest 
Of beauteous maidens sore opprest, 
And many a damosel forlorn 
From brutal lord was bravely torn, 
When knighthood was in flower! 

HISTORY. 

When knighthood was in flower 
Each faction was a robber band, 
To pillage and make waste the land, 

72 



And rugged children of the soil 
Were slaves of suffering and toil, 
When knighthood was in flower! 

ROMANCE. 

When knighthood was in flower 

The gallant knight in tourney rode 
To win the smile his love bestowed, 
And, victor crowned, his trophies laid 
Before a queen — or beggar maid! — 

When knighthood was in flower! 

HISTORY. 

When knighthood was in flower 

Scant chivalry was e'er displayed 
For rustic wife or peasant maid, 
And children of the bonded churl 
Were passing sport for knight and earl, 

When knighthood was in flower! 



If knighthood ever was in flower, 
'Tis well for human love and need 
Its blossoms rank have gone to seed; 
Far better that such chivalry 
Should live alone in poetry 

Of knighthood in its flower! 



73 



The Song 
of the Wheels 

I sing- no song- of Orpheus — 
Of melodies divine; 

No lay of Grecian goddess — 
No bacchanal to wine; 

No epic to a hero- 
No tribute to a name — 

No "high-falutin"' sonnet 
To wreathe the brow of Fame; 

But a little song of travel, 

A rhyme of rail and train, 
Arranged in simple measure, 

With an everyday refrain; 
A melody of motion — 

To the sleeper a delight; 
The song the wheels keep singing 

On a sleeping car at night. 

Have you never listened, 

In the quiet of the night, 
To the rattle and the prattle 

Of the triple trucks in flight- 
To the music of the journals, 

The pounding of the rail, 
Whirling through the darkness, 

Down the iron trail? 

74 



Seeming now to whisper, 

Now to sob in pain, 
Then to roar with laughter 

Like a thing of brawn and brain; 
Soothing" now to slumber, 

Screeching now in fright — 
Oh! there never was such music 

As the wheels give out at night! 

Many a song seraphic, 

Many a strain divine, 
Have touched the chords of feeling 

In this breast of mine; 
But still, the rarest music 

That ever winged its flight, 
Is the song the wheels keep singing 

On a sleeping car at night. 



76 



The West 
to the East 

Come out of the land of the dying East, 

To the land of the living" West; 
Here in the heart of the Land of God 
Where the harvest blooms in the virgin sod, 
Is life, and hope, and rest! 

O, ye who travel the crowded streets, 
In the troublous cities of care, 
Who struggle from morn until set of the sun, 
What have you to show when the day is done? 
What is your prize, and where? 

The sunken eye, and the pallid cheek 

Are the gifts of the crowded East, 
Where men meet men in anger and strife, 
And perishing millions battle for life, 
And hunger is at the feast! 

Why will you cling to the haunts of men, 

To the town and its poisoned breath, 
Where children are born in the world to weep, 
And the only relief is the fitful sleep 
That ends in the sleep of death? 

The hand of the prairie is reaching out 
With a promise of life and rest: — 

76 



Abandon the struggle that is idle and vain, 
And come to the land of the golden grain — 
The heart of the living West! 

For here is hope, and here is content, 

And here is God's free air! 
And here is the sun of the promised land, 
Where the heart can grow and the soul expand, 

And love is everywhere! 



77 



The Names 
of Long Ago 

Thing's are not as they use to be, 

(With a sigh, the old man said)— 
The friends of my youth have passed away, 

And the good old times have fled; 
But most of all I miss the names 

Of the folks I used to know — 
The quaint old names I was wont to hear 

In the happ3^ long ago! 

Where are the Calebs, and where are the Faiths, 

And where the Samanthy Janes? 
And where are the Bves of the singing schools 

Who chanted the old refrains? 
'Tis many a year since Jonah so sly 

Made love to his Abigail dear, 
And Thankful blushed to the roots of her hair 

When she knew Beriah was near. 

And there was Balaam and Ahab and Zeb, 

And Dru', in her ponderous poke, 
To say not a word of the backward Miles 

Whose love Priscilla awoke; 
Ham and Haman, and Cyrus and Lera, 

And the simpering Zury Ann, 
And Zeke, and Amos, and Jonadab, 

And the goodly Jonathan! 

78 



Was ever an Azuba wooed in vain, 

Or a name so sweet asHannah, 
In the days when Uriah courted Zoe, 

And Shadrach wooed Susannah, 
And Jemima won, with eyes demure, 

The love of her Obadiah, 
But gave, like the merry jilt she was, 

Her heart to Hezekiah? 

Gone is Patty, and gone is June, 

And Eneas is dying out, 
And Mehetabel Jane is giving 'way 

To the names that are now about; 
But where would you find a sweeter name, 

Or a fairer one to see, 
Than the name of that long-forgotten flirt, 

The blushing Felicity? 

Farewell Janet, and farewell Truth, 

And farewell Rachie Ann — 
A long good-bye to the old time girl, 

As well as the old time man. 
With all their puzzling modern ways 

They've muddled my memory so, 
I scarce remember a score of names 

I knew in the long ago, 



79 



Pessimism 

Half the things that in life go ill 

Can be traced to neglect and lack of will. 

Half the trials that men befall 
"When bravely met aren't trials at all. 

Half the wrongs we think we bear 
Are woven in tissue as light as air. 

Half the lies that fall on the ear 
Would do no harm if we failed to hear. 

Half the faults of the folks next door 
Would virtues be could we pass them o'er. 

Half the pleasure in life we miss 

By looking for trouble and not for bliss. 



80 



The Bells 
of San Gabriel 

Sweet mission bells of San Gabriel — 
What tales of joy thy voices tell! 
In smiling hours, thy accents free 
Fill all the land with melody — 
Glad bells of San Gabriel! 

Sweet mission bells of San Gabriel— 
What tales of grief thy voices knell! 
When heavy hearts are filled with pain 
How sweetly soft thy low refrain-^. 
Sad bells of San Gabriel! 

Sweet mission bells of San Gabriel, 
All joy and sorrow in thee dwell; 
Thy wedding chimes turn, in a breath, 
To sobbing tones of woe and death — 
Sweet bells of San Gabriel! 



81 



Ambition 

The restless waves, 
Old Ocean's slaves, 

Roll back apace, 
And, black as shrouds 
The Cimmerian clouds 

Sweep on in space. 

A youth, with eyes 
Deep as the skies, 

Rests on his oar, 
And, bending- low, 
Lone: strives to know 

The mystery of the shore. 

"Oh, mystic land, 
With storm-swept strand, 

Ambition's gate, — 
A restless youth, 
In search of truth, 

Would know his fate!" 

Afar, in gleams, 
The silver beams 

Of Lunar light the way, 
And night, outworn, 
Gives breaking dawn 

Fair promise of the day. 
82 



The restless waves — 
Old Ocean^ slaves — 

Run high no more; — 
With sightless eyes 
The Boatman lies, 

A wreck upon the shore, 



83 



Life 

The play is on — the actors glide 

Like phantoms through the tragic scene 
Another act or two, and then — 

Forever falls the final screen. 



84 



Sunrise 

Out of the East, in the morning, 
Rises the God of the Day, 

Driving the ghosts of darkness 
From valley and hill away. 

Filling the Earth with glory- 
Kissing the flowers sweet— 

In a golden car of splendor, 

With heavenly coursers fleet. 



85 



Renascence 

When the glowing- leaves were dying, 
And the autumn wind was sighing 

Through the trees, 
Then — my mind and being filling — 
Came this thought, with sadness thrilling, 
"As these summer leaves decay, 
So will gladness fade away — 
Just as these/' 

But I said — when springtime flowers 
Filled the land with scented bowers, 

And the trees, 
'Neath sweet April's sunny showers 
Formed their mystic, leafy towers — 
"After sorrow's winter reign 
Come the joys of life again — 
Just as these," 



86 



Rest 

Peaceful is the river, 

Gleaming* is the strand, 
And softly blow the zephyrs 

From sea and meadowland; 
The sun sinks in the bosom 

Of the distant, golden West, 
And the robins cease their chirping 

As the world sinks into rest. 



87 



In Bohemia 

"I'd rather live in Bohemia than any other land." 

John Boyle O'Reilly 

I'd rather live in Bohemia 

Than in any other land, 
Where every man is a brother, 

With his heart in his open hand; 
And whether a man be rich or poor, 

So long- as his heart is right, 
He's just as good in Bohemia-land 

As a king in hie royal might. 

Afar in a distant country 

A dreamer wandered alone; 
His heart was heavy with yearning 

For the sound of a friendly tone; 
He longed for the voice fraternal — 

For the touch of a kindly hand — 
And, lo! he awoke one morning, 

And there was Bohemia-land. 

In the beautiful valley beneath him, 

As the vapors rolled away, 
He saw the City of Friendship — 

His vision of yesterday; 
And the heart of the weary dreamer 
Was filled with a joy divine: 
"The world may do as it wills," he said, 
"Since love and content are mine." 

88 L Of C. 



So here's to the voice of friendship, 
And here's to the helping hand, 

And here's to the sun of Bohemia 
That kisses the dreamer's land! 



89 



God's 
Country 

Thought th' Kast was mighty fine, 

First time I seen it; 
Tramped about in New York town, 
Chased th' lions up an' down - 
Don© old Broadway good an' brown — 

Thought it was God's county. 

Wandered out t' Illinois- 
Crossed th' rollin' prairie; 
Never seen sich wheat before, 
An' corn enough t' last, an' more, 
Till folks has reached th' golden shore— 
This was sure God's country. 

Came at last t' Angeles- 
Heart o' California; 

Saw th' figs an' orange trees, 

Breathed th' scented ocean breeze — 

Dead o' winter didn't freeze — 
Only real God's county! 



90 



Victoria 

Out of the darkened void of years there came a 

star, 
And set itself upon a woman's brow; 
And, far and near, men came, and gazed, and 

marveled much, 
Naming- the star-crowned woman — Queen! 
And, while they gazed, more brilliant shone the 

star, 
And over all the world its radiance shed, 
Until in every land and clime was seen 

The glory of its golden light, 
One day, as wondrous as it came, it paled and 

died, 
And she who had been Queen was Queen no 

more, 
Except within the loving hearts of men. But, as 

it passed, 
So passed the glory of the world, and over all the 

earth 
Night fell, and filled the universe with gloom. 



01 



LIBRARY OF CONGRFqc 

iliiniiil 

015 905 029 4 



